Ruminations and Red Pajamas
by starry19
Summary: 6x16 Tag - "And then she sat on the floor of her shower, hot water streaming all around her, telling her heart to shut up. It was time she did something for herself. Marcus was kind and thoughtful and, best of all, he wasn't wearing a wedding ring."
1. Chapter 1

**AN:** Oh, wow. WHAT an episode. Glorious angst and wonderful undercover stuff. I am in heaven. This is excellent. I was very on the fence about Pike (okay, so I basically thought he was useless), but I have really gone the other way now, for reasons that I hope will become clear.

A multi-parter, I believe. Well, at least two chapters. Possibly three. We _do_ have a week of hiatus to get through, after all.

This is dedicated to the wonderful MleeWrite, who basically said, "go write a tag. Here's the title." I'm not kidding. She actually did that.

**Ruminations and Red Pajamas**

She enjoyed herself with Marcus. He was attentive, funny, and, best of all, obviously interested in her.

He also hadn't been joking about the pancakes being delicious.

Throughout their impromptu date, she carefully avoided thinking about Jane. Sometimes she even succeeded.

He had reminded her of an eager puppy that had been unexpectedly kicked by its owner. She knew exactly what his face would look like when she was out of sight, the way it would crumple when he thought no one was looking.

However, she fiercely refused to feel guilty about what she was doing.

Jane had had twelve years - _twelve years_ - to do something, anything. And he hadn't.

Regrettably, at least for her, it didn't mean her feelings had changed. At all. There was a part of her that was ashamed of herself for going on a date with one man when she was most certainly in love with another. Indeed, she'd had every intention of turning Marcus down when he'd first asked her.

Then everything had changed.

He'd been straight-forward, telling her she was good looking, that he liked her, that he wanted to get to know her better.

She'd been caught off guard at how utterly _refreshing_ that was. Frankness, and honesty, and openness. No games, no phrases that might have double meanings related to their relationship but then again, might not. No deceptions, no running off an sleeping with the mistress of a serial killer and not calling for six months.

She didn't have to wonder how Marcus felt, what he was thinking, _because he told her._

And so she had done an about face, accepting his offer with something approaching actual enthusiasm.

It hadn't been misplaced.

Marcus held doors, ushered her inside with a hand at the small of her back, actually touching her the way Jane rarely did anymore.

They weren't even a couple and he was already protective of her.

Her heart gave an odd squeeze. It was something she hadn't realized she wanted. For so long, she had been the protect_or_, stepping between Jane and danger. She had done it without thought, instinctively, but being taken care of was such a shockingly appealing concept that she had to blink rapidly for a moment.

At the end of the night, Marcus walked her to her car, kissed her on the cheek, and told her to text him when she got home.

She did.

And then she sat on the floor of her shower, hot water streaming all around her, telling her heart to shut up. It was time she did something for herself.

Marcus was kind and thoughtful and, best of all, he wasn't wearing a wedding ring.

She was abruptly angry.

She'd had so many hopes when Jane had come back from exile, putting her at the top of his list of demands. He'd killed Red John and was finally out of reasons to hold onto his past. In fact, he'd spent two years trying to move on.

As it happened, she'd been wrong.

The only thing that changed was that he didn't wear vests anymore. Too bad, that, since the sight of him in a waistcoat with his shirtsleeves rolled up was enough to make her pulse start racing.

But he was still the same old Jane. Manipulating, secretive, still anchored to what had been, to the great tragedy that had been his past life with a gold band that might as well have been an anchor.

She didn't expect him to ever get over his family. That was okay. He was perfectly entitled to mourn them for the rest of his life. She couldn't say honestly that she wouldn't do the same.

But that didn't mean that he had to live as though he was dead, too.

He didn't talk about Angela much. To this day, she still hadn't heard him say her name. But from the little she knew, Angela Jane wasn't the type of woman that would want him to closet himself away from the rest of the world.

Clearly, that was still happening.

She was done with it.

Done waiting around for Jane to figure out what he wanted in life. She had been _right there_ for twelve years. It was time to face the facts. If he couldn't move on yet, he would probably never be able to.

Or maybe he _had_ figured it out, and he simply didn't want to go forward with her. However, he clearly didn't want anyone else to have her, either.

She leaned against the cold tile at her back, a freezing counterpoint to the warmth of the shower spray.

Later, wrapped in a towel, she automatically checked her phone. She had two messages.

One was from Marcus. _Glad you made it home. I'll call you tomorrow. Sweet dreams._

She smiled.

The next was from Jane. _If your date isn't going well, let me know if I need to come up with some emergency to get you away._

She stared at the screen. Tapped out a goodnight to Marcus, then seriously considering telling Jane her date had been wonderful.

It would hurt him, she knew it, but she was still tempted.

She was mad at herself again.

Seriously, it was _okay_ if Jane felt bad for a change. God, he had done far worse to her, and without apology.

She was honest enough to admit that he probably did feel sad and remorseful for some of the things he had done. But that was the difference - he had _chosen_ to do all of those things, and if he felt bad, then it was no one's fault but his own.

Here, she was the one doing the hurting.

Guilt crawled up her throat.

She threw her phone back onto the bed.

None of this was her fault. She wasn't being unfaithful or anything. Jane had never asked her to wait, had never told her honestly how he felt. Had never said, "sorry I'm a mess, but I have every intention of figuring it all out and I'd like you to be there for it."

No. Instead, he'd pretended to forget telling her he loved her, in essence taking it back, then used how she felt against her when the hunt for Red John had been almost at its conclusion.

Unexpectedly, tears pricked in her eyes.

Apparently, she still wasn't over it.

Defeated now by her own stupid emotions, she crawled under the covers, dressed in her oldest sweats. They were a far cry from the red silk pajama top she'd worn the night before.

What had she been thinking with that, anyway?

She knew precisely what she'd been thinking, even if she felt ridiculous admitting it to herself.

She was thinking of Jane, naturally. He'd put her in a dress, told her she looked lovely before the party had started, had even sounded sincere about it. Throughout the night, continuing their ruse of being a couple, he'd had an arm around her waist several times, had toyed with her hair, had even kissed the back of her hand once.

And then her plan had been...what? To show off her legs and hope he took the invitation? To hope that they ended up in the same bed?

Her cheeks flushed.

Stupid.

She had considered joining him on the couch after she'd tucked him in, studying the lines of his face. What would he have done if she'd slid beneath the blanket? Balk, maybe? Or maybe he would have simply wrapped his arms around her and gone back to sleep.

She would never know now.

And it wasn't likely she would know _ever_.

The next morning, she felt like she had a hangover.

Too many emotions had been rolling through her. Even though she knew the undercover operation was all fake, being that close to Jane for so long, hearing him call her Teresa, touching him...it had wreaked havoc on her.

She showered again, just trying to make herself feel a bit better, then did a quick job of trying to make herself look presentable, grabbing coffee on her way out the door.

The first thing she noticed when she walked in the bullpen was that Jane had clearly slept on his couch that night. He was halfway sitting up, a blanket still over his legs, hair a wild mess.

He smiled sleepily at her, running a hand down a face, and she noticed his wedding ring was firmly back in its usual place.

Well.

She had done the right thing, then, going out with Marcus.

Feeling slightly vindicated and more than a little justified, she smiled back, then sat down as her phone buzzed.

_Morning_, it read. _Can I interest you in a fine dining experience in the cafeteria for lunch? Say 12:30?_

And, oh look. More justification. Marcus's intentions were clear, obvious. He didn't hide what he felt or what he wanted.

And it appeared that he wanted _her_.

_It's a date_, she typed back quickly, then allowed herself to smile just a little. It was nice to be wanted. Openly.

She could feel Jane's eyes on her back.

It probably made her a horrible person, but she did like the idea of him being upset that she was involved (sort of) with someone else. He could be the hurt one for once. It was petty and childish and true.

Fischer came out of her office then, a packet of papers held in one hand. "Final briefing on our art thief case in ten," she told them, smiling a little with the success of their operation. "Conference room."

With a sigh, Lisbon stood. She was going to need more coffee. From behind her, she heard Jane rise as well. As she headed to the break room, he fell into step beside her. She resisted the urge to run away. After all, she had done nothing wrong.

"My feet are still killing me from wearing those stupid heels," she told him, pleased that her voice sounded normal.

"Meh," he said dismissively. "Couple of bandaids and you'll be fine."

"How women wear those on a daily basis is beyond me," she muttered, unscrewing the lid to her travel mug.

Jane was reaching for the electric kettle. "I admit, they would probably not be the best footwear for you in this job." He smirked. "You should definitely look into wearing the dresses, however."

She snorted. "Whatever, Jane. Where would I keep my gun?"

He smile broadened. "I'm sure you could think of some creative solutions." Then he winked at her as he left, new white cup and saucer in his hand.

To her surprise, the Art Theft Department was on hand for the briefing, though she supposed it was natural for them to be there.

She sat on Marcus's left side, Fischer next to her.

Jane settled himself as far away from her as he could possibly be, and she knew it was deliberate.

She struggled to keep the hurt at bay, despite what she had been thinking earlier. Defense mechanism, she assumed. She had hurt him and now he was doing it back.

God, she hated this, hate hate _hated_ it.

She practically ran out of the office at the end of the day.

She wanted a glass of Jack Daniels about the size of her head, and for her heart to get over this obsession she'd developed for Patrick Jane.

They had a new case the next day, and Jane went with Cho to check out the crime scene. Although she wished she could be back in the field again, she had to admit that it was easier to breathe when Jane wasn't around.

He didn't call her, and she tried to be okay with that.

She let Marcus take her out to the movies, let him kiss her goodnight, even enjoyed it. He was solid and safe and exactly what he appeared to be.

For a moment, lips against his, her fingers pressed against his jaw, she considered inviting him inside. She knew he wouldn't turn her down, and the idea of sex with someone who clearly desired her was almost intoxicating.

But she wasn't ready for the implications, where that would leave them. She had waited twelve years for a relationship that had never existed -she could certainly control herself for a bit longer with Marcus.

Instead, she kissed him again, contenting herself with that for the night, and whispered a warm goodbye.

He waited until she was inside before driving away, ever protective, and she smiled.

She tracked through her dark house, tossing keys the table and her jacket across a kitchen chair. Her fingers found the light switch as she entered the living room.

In the sudden glow, she blinked.

Then started.

Violently.

Patrick Jane was sitting on her couch, legs crossed negligently, looking for all the world like he belonged there.

"Hello," he said evenly. "We need to talk."


	2. Chapter 2

**AN**: To say that I am a little blown away by your wonderful reviews would be an understatement. Shocked, awed, and humbled would be better words, and I am. Thank you, amazing people, I do this for you.

Side note: MleeWrite and I are doing a collaboration fic, set post-Violets, where Jane and Lisbon are forced to remain undercover longer than expected. It's called Ultra Violet, and you can find it on Mlee's page. Check that sucker out; I promise we'll make it entertaining.

Now...on to see what Jane has to say for himself.

**Ruminations and Red Pajamas**

**Chapter Two**

If there was an award to be given out for sheer stupidity, he would have been the recipient many times over. He would have also taken home prizes in the categories of "Stuck in Neutral" and "Scared of What's Ahead."

But where he really shined was the topic of "How to Break the Woman You Love's Heart and Have Her Walk Away."

Of course, he was the one that usually ran off - Vegas, Venezuela, the attic.

And Lisbon wasn't exactly running away.

She was still here. Still at the desk, just a few feet from his battered couch.

But now she was checking her phone for messages from Marcus Goddamn Pike, who had clearly made a lasting impression.

This entire thing was his fault. That was difficult to swallow. If he hadn't been so nosey, if he had just left the Art Theft department alone, Pike and Lisbon would have never met. No, he had no one to blame but himself.

Immediately, he could tell it was a poor decision on his part. They had been flirting almost from the get-go, and he'd been forced to (loudly) interrupt their conversation. Just for insurance, he'd then engineered an entire scenario where Lisbon had to pretend to be his girlfriend.

It had been, quote, _fabulous_, especially seeing her in those dresses. He'd had to exercise a lot of self-restraint to keep his hands in innocuous places. Yes, they were undercover, but he was pretty sure that didn't mean she wouldn't shoot him.

He'd gotten to touch her, to keep her close by, and no one looked twice. It made him want more, so much more. It was all pretend, but the emotions it stirred up were very real. This is what being in a relationship with someone - with _Lisbon_ - would entail. It was perfect and terrifying.

When they'd gotten back to FBI headquarters, he'd practically run to where his wedding ring was stashed, the cold metal anchoring him a little. Here was normal, here was the past twelve years that he understood.

Without it, he'd been someone's boyfriend.

And the idea that thinking about himself in that position was now _okay_ shook him to his core.

But that didn't mean he didn't want it.

It wasn't unheard of for the team to go out after a big closed case for drinks. Usually he declined, but he would go tonight, push his boundaries a little more.

He was going to go somewhere fabulous - and that was wherever Lisbon was.

There was some vague plan already formed in his mind. Stay out late with her, knock back a few beers, attempt to spend some time alone with her in a relaxed environment. Show her that he could change, that he was changing.

He was even still wearing the scarf, though he wasn't sure why.

_Hey, you know what this scarf is made of? Boyfriend material._

It was such a horrible thought that he was almost tempted to punch himself.

But then...then he'd seen the looks on their faces when he asked where they were going. Wherever it was, he wasn't invited.

Too late, he had been too late.

Ten minutes sooner and she would have been his.

Instead, he had watched her walk away, Pike at her side, his hand against the small of her back where his used to rest.

Defeated, he'd sat on the couch, staring at her empty desk, unwinding the stupid scarf from his neck.

His ring winked up at him under the dim evening lights, and he frowned at it. The security of it now felt almost...smothering.

He'd eventually fallen asleep on the couch that night, wrapped up in his own hurt.

This was new to him, this...being left behind.

He didn't like it.

Lisbon smiled at him the next day when she arrived. She looked outwardly peaceful, but he could see there were a few rough edges she had tried to smooth away, and he wondered how her date had gone.

Pike had sent her a text her early on, and the smile the tiny beep had gotten told him all he needed to know. He did still wonder at her inner turmoil, though.

The briefing was a nightmare come to life. Lisbon had sat by Pike automatically, much the way she used to sit by him, and, petulant now, he'd hidden as far away from them as he could be.

When the opportunity arose to get out of the office with Cho, he'd taken it gratefully, in no way interested in watching Lisbon's blossoming romance with someone who was decidedly not him.

Cho noticed his preoccupation at the crime scene.

"You look like your cat died," he said once.

"I don't have a cat," Jane replied, eyes scanning the ground around the cold body.

There was a moment of silence. "Then it's about Lisbon, obviously."

Finally, Jane turned to face the other man. Cho looked steadily back. "She's dating Pike," he said quietly.

"He's a good guy," Cho told him. "Safe. Straight-forward. I'm sure Lisbon finds that appealing."

Well, there was something that deserved a bit more of an explanation. "Meaning what, exactly?" His tone had an undercurrent of sharpness.

"After all those years of dealing with you, honesty probably is a nice change." Cho shrugged, like that should have been obvious.

"So she's attracted to him because he tells her the truth?" That seemed like a stupid reason.

"Probably." Cho went back to his investigation then, asking a few questions to the local police.

She wanted honesty.

Fair enough. She had requested that from him for years. He had rarely given it to her, at least in full measures. But there was a reason behind it. Deniability - she couldn't stop him if she didn't know what he was doing.

It was also the only meager way he could protect her, keep her out of harm's way. He didn't carry a gun, would be useless in an actual fight, but if he could just keep her out of the situation altogether, wasn't that better?

Didn't she understand that? All the lies, all the avoidance, it was all to keep her safe. He flatly refused to put her in the line of fire if he could avoid it.

It must have...worn her out, all of the secrecy.

He'd known it was hurting her from time to time, but never imagined that it would do this much damage. Good for him - not only had he been the reason Pike and Lisbon had met in the first place, he'd also made Pike much more attractive.

This was out of control.

He needed to do something.

He needed to do something now, before she was out of his reach forever.

There were things he couldn't change about himself, habits that had been ingrained so long they were part of his very nature. But he _could_ tell her why, could try to make her understand his reasons.

Could tell her what was in his heart, could promise her he meant every word.

He could swear to never walk away again, not as long as she wanted him around.

Which, at this point, wasn't looking like a particularly long stretch of time. It was like he could feel the clock ticking. How many more minutes until she fell in love with Pike and was out of his reach forever?

He solved the case in record time.

Cho was going to be making formal apologies for a week, but they were on their way back to Austin before the sun had even really started to set.

Lisbon wasn't working late, which told him she was out with Pike. Again.

Cursing, he drove the unfamiliar streets until he was at her house. All the lights were off, and he experienced a moment of sheer panic until he saw no cars were there either.

He was not prepared to find the two of them in bed.

She would come back sometime, wouldn't she? Surely it was too early in the relationship for them to be sleeping together?

He would bank on it.

He picked the lock in about ten seconds and slipped inside, eyes adjusting to the dimness. There were pictures on the wall here, knickknacks on shelves. Lisbon's decorating style had evolved immensely from the first time he had visited her in Sacramento.

She had changed, too, and he hadn't been around to see it.

Abruptly, he slipped his wedding ring off, looked for some place to put it that wasn't his pocket.

Headlights in the driveway pushed him into action, and he hurriedly sat the band on Lisbon's small mantlepiece, almost hidden behind a steadily ticking clock.

Then he sat on the couch and tried to be calm, hoping only one set of footsteps would sound on the pavement outside the house. Otherwise he was going to be throwing himself out of a window.

But then he heard keys jingling and the headlights disappeared. He breathed a silent sound of relief.

Lisbon took her sweet time coming his way, and he wondered what he would do if she by-passed the living room completely on her way to bed. Call her and tell her to come out? Turn on the TV to get her attention?

When she eventually flipped the lights on, he thought he'd never seen her jump so high.

"Hello," he said, going for nonchalance. "We need to talk."

"Jesus, Jane!" she practically screamed at him, one hand pressed against her heart. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"I told you," he repeated, "we need to talk."

She crossed the room on shaky legs and sat in one overstuffed armchair. "You know, they make these things called phones these days. They let you talk to people without hiding out in their houses."

He smiled. Her annoyance was always endearing. "Yes, but I felt this was a conversation we needed to have in person."

Her expression was wary, tense. "Oh yeah? And what sort of conversation would that be?"

Honesty.

Right.

He needed to be honest. He needed to be better than Pike.

"The other night, after the case..." He licked his dry lips. "I was going to ask you out."

The words sounded stupid and sophomoric and everything he usually tried so hard to avoid. But something changed behind her eyes.

"Ask me out?" she echoed. "Like, on a date?" There was a touch of incredulity in her tone.

"Yes," he said simply.

Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly, like she was having trouble processing. "Why?" she finally whispered.

"You know why," he said back quietly.

"No, I think you need to tell me," she replied, something strange in her voice.

This was harder. "Because..." he took a deep breath. "Because whenever I thought of myself moving on, you were always in the picture. You...mean more to me than I can tell you, and I never really saw myself going on without you." It was a poor explanation, but he was having trouble finding his words.

She met his eyes, and he wasn't sure what he saw in hers. "Why, Jane? Because I put up with you for so long? Because I'm a safe choice?"

"No," he said quickly, startled at the direction this conversation was taking. "No, because...because you're you. You're loyal and protective and beautiful and I would be so lost without you."

"Loyal and protective," she repeated, and he suddenly knew with a cold feeling that he had said the wrong thing, even if he didn't know why. "Yup, that's me."

"Teresa," he began, but she waved him off.

"Stop," she said, and her words were firm. "I can't deal with this."

Her posture changed, her spine stiffened, and he did _not_ like what that would indicate. "You had twelve years, Jane. I was there for twelve years, waiting."

He nodded. He had known this, but it had never made him feel quite so bad as it did now.

"I would have done almost anything to be with you, you know?" she said, sounding self-deprecating. "I risked my job, I risked my life, I had your back every day. And in return? What did I get? I got lies, I got evasiveness, I got you disappearing. Do you know what I didn't get?" It was coming faster now, like she had wanted to say this to him for a long time. "A thank you, an apology that sounded even close to being sincere. And I never got any indication from you that you had the slightest intention of changing how you operated."

She took a deep breath, eyes flashing. "And now? Now you want to go on a date? Oh, that's just perfect." There was silent moment where she looked like she was composing herself. "So the short answer is that you're too late. I've already given up so much because of you..." her voice caught, and he felt his heart fracture. "And all I have to show for it are a lot of lonely nights, one 'I love you' that you took back, and a box of letters."

Her chest was heaving, and he could see her hands shaking.

"So you don't get to look all hurt and betrayed," she went on. "You don't have the right."

"Teresa," he tried again, his own voice faltering, but she cut him off.

"No," she interrupted. "No, we're done. It's time for you to go."

And hew knew she meant it.

So he went, for once doing exactly what she asked.

He looked back once, and he wished he hadn't. The living room curtains were open, and he could clearly see where she had slid down the wall by the fireplace, arms wrapped around herself.

Even from a distance, he knew she was crying.

What he couldn't see, didn't know, was that, clenched in one of her trembling hands was the wedding ring she'd found on the mantle as she'd searched for something to hold on to.

It'd had the opposite effect.

She had something to hold on to, quite literally, but it didn't keep her upright.

It made her fall.


	3. Chapter 3

**AN:** Wow. I am knocked dead by your reviews. I don't even know what to say, other than THANK YOU ALL FOR BEING SO AMAZING!

Now, onward for more angst! And some other stuff, too!

**Ruminations and Red Pajamas**

**Chapter Three**

It was going to be another rough night. She knew it already, as early as it was, lying prone on the hardwood of her living room floor, Jane's wedding ring clenched tightly in her fist.

He had actually taken it off and left it in her house.

She had no idea what to make of that.

And then he'd told her he'd been planning on asking her out _on a date_, and she had responded by releasing twelve years of hurt, throwing it in his face and telling him to leave.

Which he had done.

She half-expected him not to, and a startling majority of her heart wanted him to ignore her directions like he always did, wanted him to pull her into his arms and tell her that it was all going to be okay.

She would have buried her face in his neck, breathing in his familiar scent, and just let herself be held in a way she couldn't remember since before her mother died.

But, no.

Instead she was cramped and uncomfortable, legs pulled close to her body, tears falling in useless rivulets down her cheeks.

Damn it, why did Jane pick tonight of all nights to do what he was told?

God, she wanted him back here, almost as much as she wanted him to stay away.

There was always the option of calling Marcus. _"Would you mind coming over and comforting me because I'm a wreck thanks to a man I've been in love with for twelve years who definitely isn't you?"_

Bad idea.

Most of the time, she didn't mind being the strong one, being the one that emotions couldn't touch. Didn't mind always keeping her shoulders straight, her chin up.

But there were nights when it seemed like an impossible task, nights when she desperately wanted someone to take care of her, to ease some of the burden she always carried around.

And, damn it all, why wasn't there someone?

Oh, wait. It was because she had spent so much of her life waiting around for Patrick Jane.

Abruptly, she made a decision.

She dug her phone out of her pocket, pressed a few buttons.

Jane answered on the second ring. "Lisbon," he said, voice hoarse, almost as she wasn't the only one who had been crying.

"Come back," she breathed, then ended the call.

Slowly, she pushed herself upright, muscles protesting the time she'd laid on the floor. Slower still, she walked to her room, dug out pajamas.

By the time Jane arrived - without knocking - she was laying in bed, carefully not thinking.

When she saw his face, she realized she had never actually seen him after he'd been crying. His eyes were rimmed in red, tell-tale sheen on his face.

Without speaking, she pulled one corner of the duvet back, rolling on to her side.

He didn't hesitate before joining her, his front to her back, arms tucked around her.

She sighed and snuggled deeper into his embrace, eyes fluttering shut.

"Teresa?" he whispered once, an obvious question in his tone.

"Shut up," she replied. "Just shut up. It doesn't mean anything. Just stay here tonight."

He was silent then, moving one hand to smooth her hair off of her face. Once or twice, an errant tear slid down her cheek, but he brushed that away, too.

His fingers against her scalp were soothing and she was so far beyond emotionally drained it wasn't even funny, so it was perhaps not surprising when she drifted off, his heartbeat in her ears.

She woke in the middle of the night, warm body at her back, and she rolled to face him.

His eyes were closed, lashes resting serenely against his cheeks, breathing deep and even. When she'd moved, he'd instinctively adjusted his hold on her.

A voice in the back of her brain reminded her that she could have this now, have it every night. Jane was there, present, both physically and emotionally, and he was actively looking to begin his life again.

With her.

She could have _him_, if she wanted, right now. Kiss him until he woke up, discover if he tasted like tea, the way she always imagined he would, give in to the tide of passion she'd kept bottled up, and spend the rest of the night in a tangle of limbs and thrusting hips.

He wouldn't deny her, not tonight.

But they were in this bubble, this precious bubble of solace and comfort, both wounded deeply in their different ways, and she was loathe to disturb their peace.

Instead, she nudged him slightly until he was on his back, then rested her head on his chest, her arms around his waist.

There would be repercussions in the morning, and there would be guilt, at least from her. She hoped to avoid remorse, but she couldn't be sure. After all, she had just kicked this man out of her house, told him he was too late.

But then she had called him back, and he had come, finally doing precisely what she needed him to.

She spared one thought for Marcus. Poor man. He was kind and sweet and had no idea how much of a mess she truly was.

When her alarm clock woke her up, hours later, Jane was gone. She discovered that he'd made coffee for her before he'd left, and the unexpectedly sweet gesture made her smile.

This was Jane trying, apparently.

Their day was quiet, something that she needed. Jane had given her a knowing smile when she entered the office, and her cheeks heated a bit, remembering the words that had passed between them and that she had actually spent the night in this man's arms.

Marcus called late in the afternoon, telling her that they'd gotten a huge break in a case they'd been working on for months and he had to fly to Miami.

She wished him luck, then had the paranoid feeling Jane had heard every word of their conversation.

As she was packing up her things, Jane appeared at her side. "Come over tonight," he said quietly, and when she looked up at him, she saw he was utterly stripped of any artifice.

"Jane," she whispered, torn. "Regardless of what happened later..." she took a deep breath. "I meant everything I said last night."

His eyes were bright. "Which part?" he asked, and there was a challenge in his voice. "The part where you told me to go? Or the part where you told me to come back?"

She had no good response for that, so she just shook her head.

"Come over," he repeated. "It's my turn to say what's on my mind. If nothing else, Lisbon, I can promise you I'll be honest."

When he put it that way...

Still, she hesitated.

"Please," he said, and it sounded almost like...begging. "If I'm going to lose you anyway, I at least deserve the chance to tell you what's in my heart."

"Okay," she finally breathed, hypnotized by what she saw in his face.

An hour later, parked outside his Airstream, she had the funny feeling that her life was about to change forever.

She just didn't know if it would be for better or for worse.

**XxXxXxXxX**

He was nervous. Unbearably, outrageously nervous. Unable to sit still, he paced up and down, wondering why the hell he didn't get the FBI to give him a 100 foot RV so that he'd have plenty of room to wear holes in the carpet.

This was...his one last chance tonight. He'd had so many in the past, but this, now, was the only one that had ever mattered.

He was willing to promise her anything - and mean it - tonight.

For the first time in almost thirteen years, he'd spend the night in the arms of a woman who loved him, and whom he loved in return. He'd forgotten what such a simple act could feel like, could mean.

Her tiny body, all curled up next to his, silky hair tickling his nose, soft skin under his hands. At some point, she'd gotten her head on his chest, and he'd woken with her draped over him like a too-short blanket.

He needed that again. Every night.

He felt like his empty arms were actually aching.

When he saw headlights drive up to his door, he took a moment to pull himself together. He hadn't even been this nervous when he'd proposed to Angela, a lifetime ago. After all, he'd known what her answer was going to be. Lisbon was just stubborn enough to walk away and stay away.

He listened to her footsteps as she walked towards him. There was a moment of hesitation before she knocked, and in that silence, he came as close to praying as he had done in his lifetime.

Then there was the sound of her small hand rapping on the door, and he let her in, smiling broadly. That first step was a big one, but she had come.

She had changed clothes since work, now clad in jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, dark hair still slightly damp. He could smell her shampoo.

He ushered her inside, and she sat on the couch without being asked.

More good signs. She was, at least, intending to hear him out.

He sat beside her, then looked around awkwardly.

"Well?" she prompted after a quiet moment. "I was under the impression you had something you wanted to say."

One side of his mouth turned up. These were not exactly the circumstances he'd imagined when he'd thought about telling her how he felt. "I do," he assured her, "I'm just trying to figure out the best way to say it."

Lisbon shook her head, eyebrows furrowing. "Don't," she told him. "Don't try to spell it out in some grand way, or dazzle me with pretty words. Just tell me. I don't want your facade right now."

He met her eyes, expression now solemn. More lies, more personas, more of what she hated. This was off to a great start.

She deserved honesty, would settle for nothing less than the whole truth.

So he gathered his courage.

"I'm in love with you," he finally said, and her lips parted the tiniest bit, cheeks reddening. "I'm in love with you," he repeated, "and I have been for years."

He let that hang in the air between them for a moment before continuing.

"It was inevitable, you know?" he said wryly. "The sun is always going to rise in the morning, the tide is always going to go, and I was always going to fall in love with you. I fought it, fought it hard, but sometimes you just have to know when to let go."

"I don't know," she almost whispered, eyes very bright, "that doesn't seem to be your strong point."

"Fair enough," he agreed. "But this is different. It took me a long time to get to this point, and even longer to realize what was happening." He swallowed. "I knew things were changing between us, oh, probably when I shot Timothy Carter. We spent the next few months getting closer than we'd ever been, and I knew things weren't the same as they had been."

"And then you went to Vegas," she interjected, still quiet.

"And then I went to Vegas," he agreed, "and I wrecked us. When I came back, I wrecked us even more. I justified it to myself, though. What I was doing needed to be done. Getting Red John was the only thing that mattered. Well, that, and making sure you were alive to see it." Tentatively, he brushed his thumb along her cheekbone.

"When I got that phone call from him," he confessed, reliving some of terror he'd felt, "that was when I knew. When I thought I had lost you, I realized what you were to me."

She looked shy. "And what was that?"

He smiled softly. "My partner, my better half. The proverbial angel on my shoulder that occasionally wields a Glock." He shrugged helplessly. "The woman I loved."

Carefully, he reached out and took her hand. "When I walked into that house, when I saw you were alive...you can't imagine how that felt."

Her eyes became bruised then. "But nothing changed."

He imagined his sad expression echoed hers. "I know. There wasn't time." But that wasn't the complete truth. "I was terrified," he added. "If you were targeted before, what the hell was going to happen to you if we were involved?"

She shook her head. "That wasn't your decision to make. You should have told me."

He smiled then, actually smiled. "Do you know why I didn't? Because I knew you'd talk me out of my objections." And she would have. She would have come close enough to kiss, would have looked up at him with those eyes of hers, and he would have been lost. "So I didn't do a thing," he went on, "just hoping that when this all ended, I'd be able to tell you, to show you."

But, of course, he hadn't had the chance.

The years apart had been agonizing.

"You're back now," she prompted. "You've been back for months."

"That I have," he admitted. "It's strange - I'd thought about what would happen when I was free and we were together for so long. But when it actually happened..." he trailed off. "It was so much different than what I'd pictured. I was scared," he told her bluntly. "I _am_ scared."

Her fingers, still beneath his hand, softly twined around his thumb. "Why?"

This was a trickier explanation. "I've held on to the past for so long, Teresa. Letting it go...is a much bigger task than I'd anticipated. I've never bothered to try and move on before. I'm not sure I know how."

"You just do," she murmured. "Life will always go on, and your best bet is to go along with it."

"Says the woman who admitted just last night to waiting for me for twelve years," he teased, but then he brought her fingers to his lips to soften the blow.

She was starting to give in, the angry guard around her heart cracking.

"I love you," he breathed, and he felt the shudder that went through her. "I adore you. Give me a chance to show you how much."

He could see her desperately holding on to her defenses. "Why now, Jane? Why did you wait until someone else wanted me?"

"Because I'm an idiot," he said, leaning close enough so talk directly into her ear. "And in case you didn't notice, I've been trying to ask you out for months."

"Hm?" She sounded distracted, but perhaps that was because he was gently running his nose across her jawline.

"Every time, however, you're either going out with someone else or you turn me down flat." He sighed, making sure to blow air on her exposed neck. "Ardiles, making me go on that road trip with Fischer, going out with _Marcus._" His lips touched her skin.

Her breath caught. "So this isn't just because I had a date?"

"Nope," he said against her neck. "It was just that...every I tried I got rejected." He found the pulse in the base of her throat, kissed it.

"And now?" she pressed him, even as he nuzzled her collarbone.

"Some risks are worth taking." He raised his head, then slowly tilted her chin up, telegraphing his intentions.

But she took him by surprise then, throwing her arms around his shoulders and pulling his mouth to hers. After half a second, he took control, groaning when she parted her lips, one hand bracing himself on the couch, the other wrapped around her.

She was the one to put some space between them, eventually placing both of her palms flat on his chest. He covered one of them with his own.

"I want this to work," she said, a little breathlessly.

He nodded, unsure of where she going.

"I don't want to screw this all up. I want to do it right." Her expression was earnest.

"So what you're saying," he guessed, kissing the tips of her fingers again, "is that you want to..._date_?"

_Not_ what he had expected, but he was certainly prepared to give her what she wanted. Especially if it meant he got to keep her.

"Yes," she whispered. "Dating. Romantic dinners and baseball games and whatever normal people _do_ when they date." He leaned forward, kissed her again. "And no sex on the first date."

He chuckled. "No?" She was the one that found his mouth this time. "What about before the first date?"

"Out of the question," she said when her mouth was free.

"Mm," he breathed, "and especially not on a couch, I suppose. Even if I told you I've dreamed about making love to you on a couch for about...oh, ten years."

She shivered. "A couch?"

"Yup." He slowly ran a hand through her hair, face still very close to hers. "A couch. A white one. Or a brown leather one. We can make that last one happen, you know."

"Not tonight," she murmured, and he stopped teasing.

"Alright," he said. "In that case, I would love to take you out for dinner. Say, tomorrow night?"

She nodded, then smiled at him. A second later, she burst into tears.

Properly alarmed, he pulled her close. "What?" he asked. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she choked out, voice muffled by his shoulder. "Absolutely nothing is wrong and I'm just crying for no damn good reason at all and I'm so sorry I'm being ridiculous."

He laughed at her rushed, garbled explanation. Sometimes getting what you want did that to a person.

"Stay with me tonight," he said on a whim.

She sat up straighter. "Jane, I told you-"

"I know what you said," he interrupted. "And I won't push. But stay anyway. I also happen to have a fantasy of literally sleeping with you, too."

She ran a hand down her tear-splotched face. "You got to do that last night."

"You weren't mine then."

Whatever she heard in his voice gave her pause.

"I was always yours," she said, very quietly.

"Then stay," he entreated. "If it makes you feel better, I'll turn on the TV and you can say you feel asleep watching it. Just...just don't go."

He was desperate to keep her close. He'd come within an inch of losing her again, losing her for good, and he simply wasn't willing to let her out of his sight, at least not yet.

"Okay," she finally acquiesced, then swung her legs up on the couch.

He joined her, then dug the seldom used remote out, turning on the first thoughtless show he found.

They forgot to even eat, neither one willing to move, to disrupt their moment, their night.

"Jane?" she murmured once, head pillowed on his arm, both of their hands entwined.

"Hm?" He peered down at her. She already had her eyes closed.

"I love you, too."


	4. Chapter 4

**AN**: Was going to end this a different way, but decided against it. Do I know how many chapters this is going to be? Nope. Just making it up as I go.

Hope you enjoy it!

**Ruminations and Red Pajamas**

**Chapter Four**

Early the next morning, as soon as it was a reasonable hour, she called Marcus to break things off. True, Jane hadn't mentioned anything about dating exclusively, but she knew him well enough to understand that was the implication. And, in point of fact, she didn't want to date anyone else.

She had spent two nights in a row in his arms, and she was already trying to come up with a reason to do it again.

When she'd woken up that morning, it had taken a bit to acclimate herself to her surroundings. She was definitely not where she expected to be.

She was...in Jane's bed?

Funny, since she'd distinctly remembered falling asleep on the couch. Meaning her Knight in a Wrinkled Suit had picked her up and tucked her in. And tucked _himself_ in next to her.

Jane was half draped over her, his face practically buried in the crook of her neck. His hand, still devoid of a wedding ring, was curled around her hip.

She smiled, almost too widely, and her grin felt like it was going to split her face in two. God, was this really happening?

Just two nights ago she thought she was going to lose her mind, heart breaking as she tried to finally, finally do what was best for her.

The knot of stress that had been coiled in her back had evaporated, as had the constant guilt and fear.

Yes, this was definitely best for her.

She thought about his words from the night before. She had wanted honesty. He had given it to her in spades.

An honest Jane was a bit overwhelming, but she was so thankful he had found the strength to tell her what was in his heart, what he was really thinking, the explanations for so many years of hurt he had caused.

He stretched against her, still flush with her body, and she started to seriously reconsider her "no sex before the first date" rule that she had implemented.

Her refusal to sleep with him had caught even her off guard. After all, she had certainly fantasized about it for a decade, had dreamed about it in both her waking and sleeping hours. She tried to discover the reason for her hesitation.

What they had, their fragile peace, had moved her to the core. There was something intrinsically perfect about finally finding their way to each other. Now, in the early hours of their new relationship, she was scared to disturb anything.

There were deeper reasons, too, ones she was just beginning to suspect.

There would be no going back from it. Jane didn't exactly sleep with people casually, and it would be different again, being with her. The first person since his wife that'd he'd actually wanted to be with.

A tiny corner of her heart was still sad that she wouldn't be the _actual_ first. But, perhaps, if she was very lucky, she could be the last, and maybe that was better.

And it was still far too early to be thinking about such things.

On her left, Jane stirred again, propped himself up on one elbow.

"Morning," he said sleepily, hair a wild mess, stubble showing up bright golden in the morning light.

If he looked any sexier, she thought in despair, someone should fine him.

"Good morning," she replied, and he leaned down to kiss her lightly. The buttons on his shirt pressed against her.

She frowned. "Do you own anything other than suits and dress shirts?"

He considered her question thoughtfully. "I brought back a sarong from the island. Want me to wear that?"

She giggled at the image, actually giggled. "A sarong? Really?"

"Oh, absolutely. Bought it from some local woman who was magic with a loom. Besides," he went on, still teasing. "It matched my beard."

Her fingers traced his (mostly) clean shaven jaw. "You wore it well," she told him as he leaned in to her touch. "But I think I prefer this."

He kissed her palm. "You know what I prefer? You, in my bed."

Her smile became soft. "Want to know a secret?"

Jane leaned closer, nose almost brushing hers. "Always."

"I like being here, too."

His eyes were breathtaking. "Well then. I imagine we can make this a recurring event."

She kissed the corner of his mouth, relishing the way he was looking at her. This, _this_ is what she had wanted so much. "I need to go," she whispered. "I can't exactly wear this to work."

He let his deliberately roam over her, and she felt her temperature rise a few degrees. "You're right," he agreed. "It's all wrong for the office. You should take it off immediately." And then he half-yelled as she swatted him the face with a pillow.

Eventually, she managed to make it out the door. She had lingered on the threshold for several minutes longer than she'd anticipated, but she found it very hard to go when Jane seemed quite intent on thoroughly kissing her.

On her way back to her small house, she'd called Marcus, tried to be very concise. He was nice enough, but she could tell there was some hurt behind his words, and she felt another wash of guilt.

There was a text waiting for her when she checked her phone, walking into the kitchen in search of coffee.

_I miss you_, Jane had written.

It eased her misgivings, filling her with hope instead.

On a shelf in her living room, there was a box of letters that contained those words, too. They had always made her sad to read. True, it was nice (wonderful, affirming, sweet) that Jane thought about her enough to tell her he missed her in every letter. But that had been a different sort of missing.

At the time, she'd had no idea if he was going to be coming back, if she would ever get to see him again.

This last _miss you_ was very much in its own category.

It said, "I wish you were still here, but I know I'll see you soon. Just wanted to make sure you know I'm thinking about you."

She grinned to herself as she stepped in the shower, was still smiling when she dressed in her standard black suit.

Almost like he'd planned it (which she did _not_ put past him), Jane was walking into the building at the same time she was.

"Morning, Agent Lisbon," he said jauntily, pressing the elevator button. "You're looking very bright eyed today. Sleep well last night?"

Nonchalantly, she shrugged. "Well enough, I suppose. I feel asleep on a couch and I think my neck didn't appreciate it."

They stepped into the empty elevator. Jane lowered his voice to somewhere around _indecent_. "I know someone who would be more than happy to work out the kinks."

"_Behave_ yourself," she warned. "Or all dates are off."

He smiled his Cheshire Cat smile. "I'll keep my hands to myself," he promised. "Unless you ask nicely."

The arrived at their floor with a ding. "Let's just hope no one gets murdered today, hm? Federal investigations tend to interfere with my plans."

He touched a hand to the small of her back for just an instant, and then he made for his couch, keeping his promise to act professional. Mostly.

Her phone beeped.

_You're adorable when you sleep._

She shook her head, put the device back on her desk.

Beep.

_You're also very snuggly. I knew you would be, but I love being proven right._

Beep.

_If you're nice, I'll let you make out with me on this couch._

Beep.

_Come sit by me. I'm lonely._

Beep.

_That wasn't a very nice hand gesture to make._

By noon, she thought she was going to explode if she had to keep acting like everything was normal, so she jumped at Kim's suggestion that they run to a local restaurant for a quick lunch.

As they waited for their food, she played with the straw in her Diet Coke. She considered Kim a friend, the closest female friend she had, the closest female friend she had _ever_ had, and she thought seriously about telling her about the situation with Jane.

She wouldn't condemn, Lisbon knew that. She would likely just be intensely curious.

In the end, she decided to keep it to herself, at least for now, at least until she had something concrete to share.

But then the topic was driven almost out of her mind by Kim's next line of conversation.

"I think I have a date with Cho tonight."

Lisbon accidentally choked on her drink. "I'm sorry, you said what?"

"A date," the other woman repeated, looking vaguely unsure. "With Cho."

"Um, didn't see that coming." Well, that was an understatement. "How did this happen?" She did her best to not sound totally shocked, which was what she was.

Kim seemed a little helpless. "The other night, when we all had pizza and you split out with Pike? Well, we all went to the bar afterwards, and it wound up being just the two of us at the end."

Lisbon spared a moment to wonder if they'd slept together.

"We just kept talking and before we knew it, it was almost three in the morning. And he asked me out." She took a nervous bite of her salad.

"To which you said yes, apparently." Lisbon could feel a smile forming.

"Uh, yes."

It was sort of a refreshing change - someone else had turmoil in their lives. "So what's the big deal?"

Kim seemed to be having some trouble with her answer. "I think...I don't know, we work together, I haven't been on a date in forever, and saying yes to something like that is just so not me."

Lisbon smiled. "It'll be fine. It will be," she emphasized. "You'll have a good time."

She was genuinely happy for both of them.

Kim sighed. "I hate to sound like...well, I have no idea, but do you know anything about the other women he's dated? Like, what his type is?"

Lisbon thought. Now there was an interesting question. He had dated an attorney and a former hooker, and those were just the ones she'd actually met. Probably a bad idea to tell Kim about Summer, though.

"Cho...doesn't really have a type," she hedged. "He dates who he likes, and that's about the only criteria I can think of."

Beneath Kim's nervousness, Lisbon could see that the other woman was actually looking forward to this date. Miracles never ceased, she thought gently. The universe was certainly being kind to her today.

The rest of the afternoon started to drag, and she found herself unfocused on her paperwork. Surely the clock on her computer screen was broken; time could not possibly be moving that slowly.

Jane was still lounging on the couch behind her, but her phone stayed silent this time.

At 5:01, she was in the elevator, having said a quick, fake-sounding goodbye to Jane. Then she sped home, fingers drumming anxiously on the steering wheel the entire way.

The dress she was thinking of wearing was in the very back of her closet, tags still attached. She had bought it years ago on a whim, and sadly, had never had an occasion to wear it. It was deep purple, sleeveless, flaring out slightly at the waist. A very _date_ dress.

With shaking hands she spritzed on some perfume, touched up her make-up, adding actual lipstick. She pinned part of her hair up, then decided that looked like too much, and let it fall down her back in its usual waves.

Jane arrived ten minutes early, but she was ready.

"You look stunning," he said, and she loved the admiration in his expression.

"You don't clean up so badly yourself," she added, inhaling his cologne as he leaned down to kiss her cheek.

He was wearing a suit she'd never seen before, and a tie, of all things. His hair was under control, and he looked so like an unbelievable dream that she was tempted to pinch herself. This man was going on a date with her. With _her_!

"Ready?" he asked, watching her scoop up her small black purse.

"Been ready," she answered. For twelve years.

His hand found her waist, and she could feel the imprint of every single one of his fingers.

The place he took her to was swanky, with menus written in french and chandeliers. He walked her through ordering, then expertly selected a wine. It was like she was getting to see flashes of the old Jane, the one who had been famous and wealthy. Certainly, she had seen him do things like this before, but it had always been for a case.

He was showing off tonight for her, trying to impress her.

Patrick Jane was actually nervous.

As upset as she had been, he had truly been afraid he was going to lose her.

She slid her hand beneath his, and he took it gratefully.

The food was excellent. She felt like she was bursting at the seams by the time she declined the chocolate eclaires. She'd also had a few glasses of wine, so she was inclined to look fondly at the world as they left, warm, full, Jane's arm around her.

She leaned into him, stretching up to steal a kiss before he settled her in the car.

To her surprise, he took her to the theater next. She'd never been before, and was worried the whole thing wouldn't be to her taste. As it turned out, she loved the theater, could have sat in her seat forever, Jane's fingers entwined with hers, their hands resting on his lap.

When they emerged from the old opera house, it was almost eleven. Late enough that she needed to be getting home if she wanted to be on time for work.

But she wasn't willing to give up Jane's presence yet. So she hesitated, torn between wanting what she _wanted_ and what her head knew was the better option.

Jane took matters out of her hands again. "Can I stay with you tonight?" he asked quietly, navigating back to the freeway. "I don't care if you make me sleep on the couch. I just...want to be close."

She nodded in the darkness, looking down to hide her smile.

Of course, there was no way he was sleeping on her couch; they both knew that. Still, it was sweet that he had made the offer.

To her surprise, Jane had a packed bag in the trunk of the car.

"Awfully confident, aren't you?" she asked, mostly teasing, waiting for him on the sidewalk in front of her house.

"Always prepared, Lisbon. I'm like a boy scout." He shut the trunk with a slam.

She almost asked him what merit badges he'd earned, but she was sure he'd say something provocative.

There was another surprise when they got inside. When she exited the bathroom, Jane was in honest-to-God pajama pants and a t-shirt. They were new - she could still see the creases in them.

She stared.

"What?" he asked, sounding almost defensive. "I decided maybe the sarong just wasn't going to cut it."

Laughing now, she turned the covers down, a rush of affection going through her as she watched him do the same on the other side of the bed.

In another minute, she was in his arms, one of her legs thrown over both of his. For a long while, there was nothing but the sound of their intermingled breathing.

Then, "I've dreamed about this, you know," he said quietly.

She sighed, content. "Me too."

"I love you," he whispered.

She was smiling against his chest. "Love you, too."

It was normal, happy. This is what people in relationships did. It didn't matter that they had skipped some of the steps. What mattered is they had gotten there in the end.

She fell asleep that way, lips still turned upwards.

Sometime in the middle of the night, she woke unexpectedly. Her heart was thudding against her ribs, gasping for breath.

Her dreams and been dark and twisted and edged in red, old nightmares brought back. Jane was sitting up beside her now, brushing her hair off her face, arms around her trembling body.

"Breathe," he whispered, "just breathe. Deep breaths. It's alright."

She shivered, knowing it would be a long time before it would be _alright_. She had dreamt these things many times before, and she knew the havoc they wreaked on her mind.

But it was different now. Jane was here, close enough to touch. She didn't have to wonder if he was alone, or hurt, or had fallen victim to the monster that haunted her dreams.

She kissed him fiercely, hands on either side of his face, and after a surprised second, his grip on her changed.

He didn't stop her when she pulled his shirt off, when she pushed him back against the pillows. Instead, he gave back better than what he got, hands everywhere until she felt like her bones had been replaced with melting sugar.

She dug her nails into his back, needing more, needing everything, until she broke apart beneath him.

When she came down, he was right with her, chest heaving, fingers tracing up and down her bare back.

Eventually, she felt him smile. "Rule breaker," he whispered. "No sex on the first date, remember?"

She turned enough to peer over him. "It's past midnight," she said. "First date has come and gone."

He kissed the top of her head. "Technicality. I like it."

"Mmm," she said, "great. Now shut up and let me sleep." God, she was tired now. Emotionally, physically, everything. But she pressed her lips over his heart to soften her words.

"So demanding," he muttered, pulling the blankets up over her shoulders.

"I'll show you demanding," she murmured back, eyelids closing.

The last thing she heard was his chuckle. "Promises, promises."


	5. Chapter 5

**AN:** Well, folks, this is it! Thank so much for sticking with it!

If you haven't done so, please go check out Ultra Violet! Mlee and I are having a great time collaborating for it, and I bet you'll enjoy reading it.

Now, onward!

**Ruminations and Red Pajamas**

**Epilogue**

They woke in a pool of sunshine and warm skin, Lisbon's head on his chest, the sheets pulled up to her shoulders.

The alarm clock told him they both should have been up a half hour ago, but really, he couldn't be bothered. It was Friday, after all. Wasn't there some sort of casualness implied for that day? He was fairly sure it didn't apply to showing up late, but he could feign ignorance with the best of them, especially where authority figures were involved.

Lisbon's pale skin was dappled with the golden light streaming in from the window and he smiled.

He'd made love to her twice more that night, unwilling and unable to keep his hands to himself. Inwardly, he was pretty pleased - not bad for an old man. Lisbon had certainly enjoyed it.

Where would they be, he wondered, if they had done this ten years ago? If he would have taken the chance then? No one would have looked down on him, he was sure of that. Most people, those from his old life, would have expected him to fall in love again, remarry.

And he had thought about it more times than he could count.

For a second, he was deeply sad. They could have had a decade of this. Hell, they could have had a third grader by now, a beautiful daughter with her mother's dark hair and perfect eyes and his smart mouth.

He let himself imagine the scenario for a few minutes, but he eventually shook his head. It was silly. Besides, if he had been stupid enough to give in to his desires then, chances were he would have a second child to mourn.

Red John's shadow had touched them all. In the end, not even Lisbon herself had been able to avoid the man, despite his best efforts to keep her clear, and he shivered as he remembered the bloody smile that had adorned her lovely face one black night.

He ran his fingers over her cheekbones. The only things that marked her skin now were freckles.

She snuggled deeper into his arms, and he contemplated taking a sick day. Of course, Lisbon would never go for taking one together.

And he was certain she was going to insist on keeping their relationship private. That was fine with him - hell, _anything_ was fine with him as long as it meant he got to keep her all to himself.

He wondered if she would let him move in. True, they had only been together for...three days? Really? Was that all it had been? Well, officially. The past decade of his life had been focused around her, so perhaps it wasn't so surprising it felt like they had already been a couple for a long time.

Lisbon stirred again, then propped herself on an elbow to look at him. Her hair was a curly mess. She looked...well-loved.

And she was.

She leaned forward, gave him a small kiss, her lips a touch swollen from the night before.

"Any more nightmares?" he asked, smiling.

"Like I had a chance to go back to sleep," she replied, chuckling a little.

"Complaining?" he challenged.

Her eyes widened innocently. "Heavens no. In fact, I think I've found my new favorite way to keep bad dreams away."

He toyed with a strand of her hair. "In that case, I'm happy to be of service any time you need me."

"Mm." He expression changed, and he felt his pulse start to pick up. "I think I feel a bad dream coming on. Right," she kissed him. "About," her hand started to slide down his chest. "Now."

They were late to work, but he absolutely didn't care.

And they weren't the only ones a bit tardy, as it happened. Cho and Kim shuffled (maybe snuck was the better word) into the office about five minutes after them.

_That_ was certainly an interesting development.

But one that made him smile.

Abbott was almost beside himself at all four of his minions being visibly absent. The spinning wheel of death had stopped again, apparently.

They gathered in the fish bowl, were yelled at, and were then briefed. Lisbon rested her knee against his under the table, and he wondered if he could talk her in to a make-out session in the elevator.

Out of habit, he tried to play with his wedding ring, but it was still gone.

He hadn't ever asked Lisbon if she'd found it, what she'd done with it. The symbolism of it still meant a great deal to him, but she was sure to know that.

So it was probably right to assume she had it somewhere safe, a nightstand drawer or a jewelry box.

It didn't matter. He didn't need it back.

His heart felt full as he realized the only thing he really needed, the only thing he had ever needed in a decade, was Lisbon. And as long as he had her, it would all be alright.

Better than alright.

It would be perfect.


End file.
